A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [28]
Over cognac he said, “Kelly’s IRA activity must have been a problem for you, with your son being an officer in the British Army. But when you had me over, it was heartwarming to discover the great affection the people in Kilmartin have for you.”
“You mean with their being IRA to the core and me a Protestant?” All at once, she felt like unburdening herself. “I knew my son served in the SAS and I kept quiet about it. Kelly found out and lied for me, so that the villagers have never known of my guilt. They never knew that my wild son’s madness resulted in his Al Qaeda connection, nor that he took his own life.” She put a hand on his. “So there you are—lies, deceit, and enough wickedness to choke on.”
None of this was new to him, but hearing it from her own mouth moved him deeply. He had been so sure that he had served merely as a substitute for the son she had lost so tragically, but realized now that the truth was rather different.
He paid the bill, and they walked up Curzon Street in silence, arm in arm. When they reached the house, she rummaged in her purse to find her key and he took it from her.
“Let me,” he said, and opened the door.
She turned to face him, trying to smile but in obvious distress. “So sorry, Owen, to unload all that garbage and guilt on you like that. I get so damn lonely.” She was close to tears. “Just look at me, chairman of Talbot International, the woman who’s got everything and nothing.”
“What nonsense. You’ve got me, haven’t you?” He kissed her lightly on the mouth. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
As if not quite believing what he had done, she glanced up at him in astonishment and then smiled. “Yes, it is, actually. Would you by any chance fancy a coffee before you go?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, then stepped inside and closed the door.
On leaving Owen Rashid’s apartment, Henri Legrande and Jack Kelly had returned to the antiques shop, where the Frenchman started to work his way through the file Rashid had given him. Leafing through it, he was immediately aware of the most recent addition, and he read it quickly.
“Look what we have here,” he said to Kelly. “Captain Sara Gideon just joined Ferguson’s staff from the Intelligence Corps.”
“A nice-looking woman,” Kelly said, examining Sara’s photograph.
“There’s a damn sight more to her than good looks,” Henri told him. “Her military record is remarkable, and I know her grandfather by reputation, Rabbi Nathan Gideon. Very popular with the interfaith movement. Preaches all over the place, even in Christian churches. He’s good—I’ve heard him.”
“So where would he fit in?”
“When she’s not serving abroad, she lives with him. Since she was a passenger on that Gulfstream of Ferguson’s that just got in from New York, I think we can assume she’s with him now.”
“Do you want to take a look?”
“Why not? I’ll need to check where all Ferguson’s people live, but she’ll do for a start. We’ll take my car.”
Twenty minutes later, he was behind the wheel of his small and battered Citroën van, Kelly beside him, observing Highfield Court, when the Alfa Romeo Spider turned into the drive.
“Now, there’s a nice car,” Kelly said, and then Holley got out and approached the front door. “It’s Daniel Holley. I know the bastard well. Sean Dillon’s friend. Top Provos in their day, but damn traitors now.”
The door opened and Sara Gideon appeared, Sadie behind her. She looked very striking, the red hair contrasting vividly with a bomber jacket, shirt, and loose leggings in black raw silk.
Sadie said, “Don’t let it go to your head, but you look fantastic.”
“Well, he’s not looking too bad himself, is he?” Sara nodded to Daniel, standing by the Alfa in a leather flying jacket and jeans.
“For an older guy,” Sadie told her.
“Don’t be boring.” Sara kissed her on the cheek. “Go and check us out on your tarot cards or something.” She went down the steps and said to Holley, “You’re looking very sharp. Love the jacket.”
“I told you I was a pilot.” He handed her